


Senses

by phipiohsum475



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutilation, dark!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock experiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses

Sherlock looked at his fingers; at the scalpel they held. He felt the ridges of the metal and saw the clean sharp edge of the blade. He ran the pinkie finger of his opposite hand across the metal heat, watching the skin divide at the slightest touch of the tool. Droplets of blood bloomed, sweet and delicate, a welcome, loving reminder of his childhood.

He pressed softly into the flesh beneath him. The tang of blood drifted into his nostrils, and he breathed in deeply, relishing the way the scent poured into his lungs, then the tainted air flowed into his heart, and pumped into the rest of his body, mixing with his own blood. He drew the line longer, deeper, to allow the blood to flow, the smell engorging his mind with sensation.

The gasp of his victim, muffled by the gag, resonated in his ears, the sound traveling down the canals to the drums. The gurgle of pain vibrated sweetly; the auditory connection sent waves of pleasure through his body that raised his flesh, the hairs standing on ecstatic edge, bumps ridging the lining the largest organ of his body.

The blood ran freely from his victim now, rivers dribbling down the man’s sides. He dipped his head to lap at the blood, licking a broad stripe across the deep wound he’d created. The iron shocked his taste buds, the bitterness alarming his senses, his mouth blossoming with the gorgeous flavor of submission and fear.

He continued carving his victim, watching how beautifully the deep red contrasted the tanned skin underneath him. The man struggled, but not the struggle of escape. He struggled against his own pain, against the weakness of his own traitorous body. Sherlock watch him attempt to still himself under the blade, trying to let him mind control his body, and failing.

Sherlock finished his artwork, a stylized symbol of his own design. The letters ‘SH’ could be carefully discerned within the line work skull, and the reddened flesh angrily protested its treatment. Sherlock cleaned the blade carefully, then loosed the restraints. He removed the gag from his victim, whose pain twisted his face, though he remained silent. Sherlock treated the deep wounds with alcohol, listening to the hiss of his victim, then bandaged the large ornamental artwork.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered.

Mycroft looked back, the pain in his eyes, but reverence shining through.

“I’ve always been yours.” 


End file.
